Chapter 15
“Long ago, they say, there was no need to distinguish between humans and therianthropes.”
When they decided to stay at an inn in the middle of the Central Highway, the witch began telling an old story.
“All humans were therianthropes, and therianthropes could take any form. If you wanted to understand someone, you could become them. It seemed as though perfect understanding was possible.”
“It didn’t turn out that way, did it? Like so many old stories.”
Enyaril laughed as she humored the witch’s sudden story.
When a server approached, the witch ordered an unfamiliar crimson wine instead of dinner.
Thinking it was cool to skip a meal and choose wine, Enyaril and Tarmin raised their hands, too.
The witch told them it was too early for children to drink and ordered them soup and grilled fish instead.
Only after accepting her wine did the witch answer Enya’s question.
“That’s right. One werewolf wanted the goddess’s love all to himself, so he began harming the other therianthropes. Those who were attacked were overcome with anger and fought back. That was when the distinction between self and other began.”
The prince swirled his wine a few times, clinked his glass against the witch’s, and said,
“If the clergy in this land heard that story, they’d be furious. Uh, I mean…”
“Humans are perfect copies of God. So they can’t look any different?”
“Exactly! That, um, arrogance—that’s it. How can a cleric say that humans resemble God?”
“It’s a folktale passed down among therianthropes, after all. It’s different from a religion that believes in one god.”
The witch brought her full lips to the glass and stole a sip of wine.
The prince said that was exactly the problem and started going on about how magnificent the gods he worshiped were.
He wasn’t the best person to tell an old story to.
Ignoring the prince, the witch looked at Enyaril and Tarmin and continued.
“The disappointed goddess Elinol fixed the therianthropes so they could each turn into only one kind of animal. That was because they wanted so badly to be distinct from one another.”
“Like werewolves, snake-people, and rat-people?”
“That’s right. And she made them yearn for her love, only to keep them from ever reaching her.”
“The goddess’s love?”
“Elinol is the moon goddess they worship.”
“…Ah! So that’s why it happens on nights when the moon is out?”
“Now the stories about werewolves attacking travelers on moonlit nights make sense, don’t they? They’ve all become tales of the past now that their bloodlines have grown weak from mixing.”
Unlike Enyaril, who clapped in admiration, Tarmin looked unimpressed.
Seeing her friend, the hero said to the witch,
“Taal has hunted a crazed werewolf before.”
“Has he? Then his therianthrope blood must still be strong. Or perhaps someone’s been up to something to strengthen the goddess’s power. Being able to fall into a frenzy means they’re so big and strong they can’t control themselves.”
The witch acted surprised, but didn’t seem particularly interested.
“In any case, stories about a family member or lover going mad and attacking you have given playwrights plenty of inspiration.”
The witch set down her wineglass with her left hand, raised her nails, and held them in front of Tarmin’s chest, miming a grasping motion.
Seeing Tarmin startled by her sudden gesture, she smiled sweetly and spoke in a dramatic tone.
“If your lover wants your heart, should you worry about your fate—or hers?”
**
Tarmin reached a trembling hand toward the door of the hideout.
He couldn’t count how many times he’d fallen between the hunting grounds near the lake and the secret hideout inside Quaalid.
He tripped over stones, fell into mud and soaked his pants, crashed into a tree that wasn’t even moving, then fell and got back up again.
Sweat poured from his entire body.
Cold.
In the chill that made it feel as though all the blood had drained from his body, he heard Elenora say,
“Tarmin, I think we’ve managed to reach an agreement with the unfortunate merchant for now. We’ve somehow avoided the rumor that a monster is roaming the city, but it’s still a fact that something that crushed a horse’s head is wandering around Lake Dumo.”
Too loud.
“Tarmin, I’m officially hiring you. Hunter—no, monster hunter. Hunt that thing. At the very least, find proof that there aren’t any monsters… Tarmin, are you listening? Tarmin?”
Too loud.
“Taal? Where are you going? Hey! Wait for me!”
He thought he heard Enya’s voice, too.
When he turned around at the door, he saw Enya, drenched in sweat and panting.
She clutched her chest and gasped for breath, as if she wasn’t feeling well.
Sorry. We were supposed to walk at the same pace.
More importantly, he should’ve gotten Sigona’s permission before showing Enya the hideout, but she’d discovered it before he could.
“Hah, haa, Taal.”
If Sigona wasn’t in here, then it didn’t matter if this secret got out anyway.
He opened the hideout door with his trembling hand.
Unlike the outside, which had been disguised to look like an abandoned house, the interior was neat and orderly.
The stubs of candles he’d burned through the night.
Half-eaten preserved food.
And the cage.
Part of the cage had been bent open, and no one was inside.
Sigona was gone.
“….”
Under the influence of Quaalid’s magic, she had become a monster.
Why had he let her keep living in Quaalid?
He should’ve sent her somewhere else, even if he didn’t ‘dispose of’ her like his father had said.
He had to stop her before the damage grew worse.
When he turned to walk back out, everything seemed so tall.
Only then did Tarmin realize he’d collapsed and couldn’t get up.
He tried to crawl, at least, toward the door.
Tarmin, crawling on all fours like a werewolf,
“Taal!”
Enya blocked his way.
She pulled his filthy, sweat-soaked face against her.
She desperately held him down as he kept thrashing, trying to push off the floor and get up.
“Calm down!”
He could hear Enya’s ragged breathing and her heart pounding.
She was holding him as best she could with what little strength she had.
He felt her slender arms trembling.
That very weakness, something he could easily have shaken off, calmed him instead.
“Tarmin, are you okay?”
“…Yeah.”
Then the feelings he could no longer suppress burst forth.
The wind across the grassland, the thundering hooves, the arrows whistling past his ears—all of them had told him over and over.
He hadn’t protected her.
“W-what, what do I do? Enya? The hunter who slaughtered her parents has now been told it’s his turn to kill their child! Maybe it would’ve hurt less if I’d killed her before it came to this. Father was right. I should’ve cut her off before I got attached. I should’ve strangled her the first night she fell asleep.
The First Lesson from the Saddle.
When you find a beast, be sure to burn its den and smash all its eggs.
If you kill an adult, you must kill its young, too.
The young of every beast are born adorable for a reason.
The moment you lose yourself in your prey’s eyes, you become the prey.
Your clan was destroyed by compassion.
Isn’t that why you live among people who believe stone walls will protect them?
Our arrows can’t be dodged, you know.
“Tarmin!”
At Enya’s shout, Tarmin was pulled out of the past and back to reality.
He wasn’t on a saddle.
This was Quaalid, and though Enya was small now, she was still his hero.
Enya held Tarmin, who was breathing raggedly, and spoke calmly.
“If you can hear me, answer.”
“…Yeah.”
“I’m here. I’m right here, so take slow breaths.”
“….”
After watching him take several breaths, Enya spoke.
“Have you calmed down? I can more or less guess what’s going on, but I still want to hear you explain it.”
“Ah, I, uh…”
He had to say something.
But the words wouldn’t come out past his throat.
“Don’t force it all out at once. Take your time. No, maybe I should ask you first.”
Enya let go of Tarmin and took a few steps back.
He missed the warmth of her arms as she moved away.
Keeping her distance, Enya looked straight at him and asked,
“Tarmin Alchin. Do you want to kill the girl who calls you big brother?”
“No.”
Tarmin answered, then quietly began to cry.
**
A little while later, Enya listened to Tarmin’s explanation after he had calmed down.
The hunt that had taken place eight years ago, and its aftermath.
His father and Tarmin’s differing opinions about Sigona.
Tarmin and Sigona’s secret meetings during every Garden Festival.
The accident that had happened today, after Sigona disappeared.
“First, about the accident with the horse early this morning.”
After putting the story together, Enya began.
“Taal, you’re jumping to conclusions. You don’t have any proof Sigona did it.”
At Enya’s words, Tarmin looked worried.
“Still, Enya, assuming Sigona didn’t do it is a little too optimistic… You saw it, too.”
With gloomy eyes, Tarmin pointed to the cage bars forced apart.
They were thick and strong enough that even a werewolf couldn’t budge them, yet she’d bent them.
There was no doubt she’d become a werewolf even stronger than her father.
“It’s likely Sigona did it. What I mean is, let’s not decide already that our waitress can’t come back.”
Tarmin’s face brightened as he looked at Enya.
“Maybe it’s because Sigona fought desperately to hold on to her reason, but even though the horse died, no one did, right? I don’t think things have become irreversible.”
The shock of having to hunt a girl who was like a little sister had made him lose his senses for a moment.
Feeling the gloomy emotions wash away beneath the hope Enya offered him, Tarmin asked,
“Then is there a way, Enya?”
“There might be.”
Enya recalled a conversation she’d had with the witch long ago.
Cause and effect were reversed.
If she hadn’t simply gone mad and run wild, but instead couldn’t control Elinol’s power…
There was a way only a hero could use.